The Interruption
by Alex the Anachronistic
Summary: Snape is preoccupied, and is interrupted by Lockheart. Bad idea on Lockheart's part, eh? Short story. CoS. Crack!fic.


DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Snape, etc. J.K.R. does.

Note: This was inspired by the Owl Post segment of your Snapecast, issue 1, when Lockheart declared that he had 'asked repeatedly' what sort of stuff Snape used on his hair. Thought you might just enjoy knowing that.

The airy hallways of the dungeons glowed with the cold torchlight of the lamps stuck on the wall, which burned with the ferocity of native bonfires, yet never conquered the icy chill. The air was constantly in motion with the breaths of the snowy gusts which bombarded through a tiny, overlooked series of cracks in the many areas of the mortar that spaced the stones in the walls. Even in the frigid temperatures, however, life managed to co-exist down there in the dungeons of Hogwart's School. Rats scampered randomly across ones feet as they scurried to escape freezing. Spiders lingered motionlessly, lurking in the deepest darkest nooks and crannies as they waited for the occasional stray fly, which almost never came. The neighbors to the rats, a large family of mice, dwelled meagerly in the long-forsaken potions cabinets and in holes in the board floors. Needless to say, the place smelled like a pig sty. Even the cold air, though it blew in from the fierce snowstorm outside, was not enough to dissuade the pungent odors to abandon the dungeons.

And stalking silently through this nauseating atmosphere came non other than our favorite snarky potions master, Severus Snape. His cloak, dark black, the color of his long-depraved heart, billowed in the breeze that he created with the motion of his strides. With no attempt to disguise his irritation of the world that gnawed at him presently, he fired hexes at the frantically escaping rodents and inconspicuous spiders. He slammed angrily into his office, and proceeded to continue slamming angrily for a full ten minutes, or more. Soon, however, Snape's anger ebbed from a burning wound to a dull mild pain. In other words, he had calmed down to normal…well, normal for him, perhaps.

Resignedly, Snape inhaled and exhaled deeply. With a determined air, as though inwardly making a firm decision, Snape collapsed down exasperatedly on his mahogany straight-backed chair, which stood primly behind his desk. What exactly was perplexing him so much? Well, the answer wasn't too simple.

Snape couldn't understand why Dumbledore so foolishly did not listen to him _ever_ in regards to the world's, second-only-to-his-father, largest bighead, Harry Potter. He was certain that Potter, based on his performance of parcel-tongue last week in the dueling club, and on other, equally as significant factors, was indeed the heir of Slytherin. Though Snape had shown Dumbledore all of this evidence, and presented more than ample proof, even from other teachers, Albus simply smiled at him from behind those ridiculous half-moon glasses, and suggested that Snape exert his detective skills on someone else.

Snape was infuriated because he had spent exactly three weeks compiling all of his information, and Albus hadn't even looked at any of it. He merely dismissed the idea that his precious Potter-boy could be mixed up in the Chamber of Secrets business in any way. This, Snape knew, wasn't even remotely fair to his time and energy spent on the project.

Perhaps, though, this was one of Albus' convoluted 'lessons' that he so often thrust upon Snape which were to make him a more tolerant and compassionate person. Snape pondered over this temporarily, turning the thought over and over in his mind. Presently, however, there came a timid knock on the door of his sacred shrine of an office.

Snape stood, cautiously, both angry at the unexpected disturbance, yet curious as to what it was. A small ray of hope shone in his heart. Was it Albus on the other side, awaiting entrance? Was he here, come to atone for his unjustifiable actions, willing to listen and observe through the eye of reason? With an inquiring look and a lighter step, Snape strode across the room to throw open the door. He was met not by Albus Dumbledore, but Gilderoy Lockheart.

Snape took one look at Lockheart, a man he most heartily and openly disdained, and calmly shut the door again. Well, rather, he TRIED to shut it again. Instead, the door was jammed by Lockheart's thick brown boot.

"Thought you would get rid of me that easy, eh Severus?" Gilderoy asked, flashing his characteristic all-too-friendly smile.

"What do you want?" Snape asked as un-cordially as possible.

Gilderoy shrugged. "Merely a little chat, my dear sir," he said charmingly. Cursing under his breath, Snape saw he had no choice and admitted his fatuous simpleton of a colleague.

Gilderoy then engaged in his usual small talk and babble. "So how are you, old man? Not too well, I see? But of course. How did I know? Indeed, I noticed you were in rather a foul mood as you positively stormed out of the headmaster's office just now. So, I decided that I would come round here and cheer you up a bit, you understand me…"

Snape closed his ears and mind to the meaningless lies and drivel. It was all too easy to tune out on Lockheart, and Snape went on to scrutinizing and grading papers. He was awakened from his blissful trance-like oblivion by Lockheart's rudely hitting him across the brow with a heavy dictionary.

"Hell, man!" Snape declared angrily, standing abruptly. "Can't a person work in peace without being degraded to the level of a punching bag?"

Lockheart looked a bit taken aback, and rather nervous. "No offense, old chap," he consoled, "I merely wanted to attract your attention."

"You had my UTMOST attention when you first came in," growled Snape, "But you lost it with your incessant rambling. Now you have it again, so come to your point at get out!"

Here Lockheart smiled. "I only want to know," he said, "What sort of potion you use on your hair. I know I've asked you in the past, but you've always managed to evade the answer somehow, either by an unidentified explosion or some other accident. Do you use a mixture of henna and--" But Lockheart never was to find out. Snape had shoved him out and slammed the door in his face.


End file.
